I’ve always taken some pride in my car.
I’ve tried to look after it.
I clean it each week.
And I’m obsessively careful about parking it.
But, it doesn’t matter how careful you are, some git will always open their car door onto yours, in Sainsbury’s car park, and I have several marks on my car as evidence to that.
Even when the car park is fairly empty, I will exit the shop to see that someone has parked right next to me. Why? There are rows of empty spaces! Why park right next to me?
And my front wing picked up a serious dent a couple of months back, in the Premier Inn car park in Plymouth. I spotted it as soon as I came out of the hotel. Not a big dent, but deep. It’s creased the metal and broken the paint, such that rust is now starting to appear.
So, I’ve been thinking that I need to get it fixed, before it gets worse. And it will be good for my OCD, as I just don’t feel right driving around in a car with a fault on it. Never have. I should say that I don’t actually suffer from OCD. I actually have CDO, which is like OCD but the letters are in their correct order.
But anyway, I decided the other day that I shall take the car to the bodyshop to get a quote. Sometime soon.
Today, as I walked to my car – I’m in a Premier Inn in Tunbridge Wells – I noticed that my car has been hit again. Same spot on the left wing. It’s much worse than before. So bad in fact, that you can’t even see the original dent. Bastards!
So, that’s gonna cost me even more to get fixed. But I’m thinking, what would be the bloody point?